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Then a strange half-humming, half-crooning sound began. It raised the hackles
on his neck, made him shiver uncontrollably. He realized, suddenly, that the
sound came from just ahead... from his chamberlain? The thought disturbed him.
What was the old man doing?
A second hum joined the first... a harsher sound, full of discords and
gratings no human throat could ever produce.
"Voyith?" he whispered. "What's going on? What are you doing?"
He took a step forward hesitantly. Before he knew what was happening,
something hard struck him on the back of the head and he saw no more.
By dawn the fortress lay completely in the Lammiat brothers' hands. As an
exhausted Nollin Lammiat walked along the battlements, deep in thought, he
gazed down on the hundred-odd prisoners massed in the main courtyard. About
half of them were guards who'd been stripped of weapons and armor, their hands
bound behind their backs. They had black eyes, split lips, and rough bandages
over their wounds. Only their eyes moved, following him as he paced. They had
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the doomed, hung-dog looks of those who expected death at any moment. Their
silence was oppressive, unnatural.
The minor nobles of the court crouched there as well. The men glowered up at
him, their bruised, swollen faces marking what persuasions his men had used to
get their obedience the night before. The ladies looked particularly
disheveled, with their fancy coifs in disarray, with their elegant nightgowns
ripped and soiled.
Nollin sighed. They clearly thought him a barbarian even though he'd shown
more mercy than any attacking army should have. None of the women had been
raped; none of the noblemen had been executed after the fight. Saliin hadn't
known war for so long that they took his generosity as a matter of course. If
Hilan had been in charge... Nollin didn't want to think of the bloodbath that
would have resulted. Still, it irked him that the nobles expected to be
pampered and coddled and left to their own devices. They'd actually been
offended when he wouldn't let them return to their beds after he'd seized the
fortress.
Sighing again, head aching, and turned and gazed out across the empty fields.
He tried to put the nobles from his mind, if for only a moment.
Not a single peasant was working. He guessed they'd retreated to their
houses, holing up until order was restored. Not, of course, that they cared
whose order, just so long as their instructions and meals came regularly.
With the wheat almost ready to harvest and nobody working, even Nollin could
see something had to be done, and soon, or the whole of Saliin would have a
lean, hungry winter.
Hilan had temporarily vanished (having abducted, Nollin assumed, a willing
girl from the local tavern), but his brother wouldn't have been very much help
anyway. Hilan had a strange hatred of farming, and everything else having to
do with life on land.
That meant Nollin would have to get things started himself. No matter what he
thought of their Lord, he couldn't leave the peasants to starve. There were
perhaps two thousand of them in the village below the fortress, and another
fifteen thousand in all the lands Mur once ruled. They'd been innocent. Too
many of his crewmen had run away from lands such as Saliin, come to the sea
because they'd been starving or because their Lords had been petty tyrants,
for him to ignore their plight.
But first, the people in the courtyard. He turned wearily to look them over
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once more.
Finally, after clearing his throat, he spoke to the guards: "We have no
desire to see any of you dead. Our grudge lies with Mur alone. For some reason
he tried to seize our ships, butcher our crews, kill my brother and me. We had
never done him any harm, nor did we intend to. Now a problem remains. What
should we do with you? By all rights you should be put to death, but I have no
great desire for more bloodshed. Instead, you will be asked to swear loyalty
to Hilan and me. Those who refuse will be sent to live and work with the
peasants -- without weapons, of course. Those who obey will be suitably
rewarded.
"The nobles... ah, that's a different matter." He smiled down at one of the
ladies, who blushed and looked away. "You will be allowed to live as you
always have within the fortress walls. I will select the new Lord of Saliin
from among you."
"We already have a Lord," one nobleman called out. He stood awkwardly. "What
of him? You cannot merely cast him out!" The man held his head high despite
his bonds and actually managed a kind of quiet dignity.
"He will be killed," Nollin said. "Hilan and I have little doubt he'll try to
recapture his fortress."
"But why can't you just take what you want and go? We can do you no harm now,
nor can Lord Mur!"
Nollin sighed. "We can't leave Mur here alive and in power. It's a point of
honor. We meant him no harm, and would have left Saliin with good feelings and
friendship between us. But his hospitality was betrayal. We were his guests,
under his protection. Thieves and assassins are not unusual in the world. But
to have one in a position of power, ruling a land, is insufferable. These are
crimes against custom and honor which can not be left to pass."
"I believe none of your fancy speech!" the man said. "You want to kill him!"
Nollin smiled without humor. "That, too."
"Then are you any better than Lord Mur?"
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"The battle's over and my men hold the walls. If I were your Lord Mur, you'd
be dead by now. What do you think?"
The man snorted. He sat down again and stared at the pavingstones.
Nollin turned away, suddenly too tired to continue. The excitement of battle
had kept him going far longer than normally possible. Now his head began to
throb and all he wanted to do was crawl into a bed and sleep for a good, long
while. "Rilal and Klaff, our first mates, will see to all the details of your
release."
All at once the prisoners began to talk among themselves, and the babble of
relieved voices rose to a deafening level. Nollin winced, trying to shut out
the noise. He decided, then and there, to return to his ship. On the Serpent
at least he could rest as long as he wanted without being disturbed.
As he walked down the stairs to the courtyard, he saw Hilan run through the
main gates. Reluctantly, he forced himself to wave and call a welcome. His
brother, Nollin noticed with disgust, looked as fresh and well-rested as ever,
strutting forward proudly and cockily. He'd even found the time to change
clothes; now he wore a bright yellow shirt, sky-blue pants, and a billowy red
cape. Emeralds sparkled in his beard.
Nollin looked down at his own clothes and grimaced. Blood and sweat stained
his black silk shirt, and his cape was both ripped and muddy. He gave his
shirt a quick brush with the back of his hand, then gave up. It looked utterly
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